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<title>i need somebody (to know, to heal, to hold) by blvdyunho (placidings)</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865185">i need somebody (to know, to heal, to hold)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/blvdyunho'>blvdyunho (placidings)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>ATEEZ (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, M/M, Songfic, i literally just said i dont vibe w real people fic, thank u lewis capaldi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 06:13:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>837</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/placidings/pseuds/blvdyunho</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>(An exploration of the moments in between waking and sleeping—under the sheets, blanketed in silence, weighed down by vacancies they cannot fill.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Choi San/Jung Wooyoung, Jeong Yunho/Song Mingi, Kim Hongjoong/Park Seonghwa</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. wooyoung + san; phantom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>hi, belovedyunho here! this is my first foray into writing fiction involving real people so like, for any inconsistencies w whatever image we have of them i apologize !! also--these r really jus writing exercises (written at 1 am, lmao) to a) release some steam, and b) practice writing flash fiction ! i uh i hope yall like them, n this goes out to all of the moots who replied to my tweet!!! &lt;333</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It's cold.</p><p>Wooyoung tucks the sheets tighter around himself, but padded comforters cannot take the shape of another man, unfortunately—blankets cannot approximate the warmth of a human hand, of arms wrapped around his waist, of fingers stroking his hair; pillows, no matter how many, cannot fill in the San-shaped void in his bed, nor can it substitute for his chest and the sound of his pulse. It goes without saying: pillows do not have heartbeats, down comforters do not have arms, and no matter how deep he buries himself into the leftover pockets of heat he, himself, leaves, he will never be warm.</p><p>It's cold—Wooyoung's gonna have to get used to it.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. yunho + mingi; routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Yunho opens his eyes, it's to a dark room—and then to the dull, throbbing ache in his chest (it's been there for days, and maybe, just maybe, he thinks, if he ignores it, it'll go away). He sits up, <i>gets up</i>, the earliest he has ever gotten up in weeks (months), shaves, leaves the room. Pads down the hall and into the kitchen, loads up the coffee maker, rummages through the fridge for something to eat. Thinks about making kimchi fried rice, decides against it, boils two eggs instead, just on low heat so he can take a shower while he waits. <i>Actually</i> showers in ten minutes despite the water being cold as fuck, shuts off the stove on his way back to his room, and <i>then</i>. </p><p>It's the sight of his—their, if he's being honest—dark bedroom (it shouldn't be, it's 6am) that makes the dull, throbbing ache in his chest turn into something that constricts, something that suffocates, something that actually <i>fucking hurts</i>. </p><p>Mingi would never let their room be this dark, nor would he let him out of bed at such an ungodly hour. </p><p>Mingi would've taken his wrist in his hands, gentle as he stirs, and told him to <i>stay in, babe, it's a Saturday</i>. Mingi would've held him; would've tucked his face into his neck; would've pressed his lips there. </p><p>And Yunho would've smiled and let himself sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. hongjoong + seonghwa; imprint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>These are the things Hongjoong has committed to memory: the shape of his eyes—when he laughs (half-moons), when he looks at him (almond and wide, really <i>fucking pretty</i>), when he's frustrated and/or disgusted (narrowed slits). His lips—their color (pink, always pink), how they taste (it depends, really, but Strawberry ice cream will always remind him of Seonghwa), how they feel against his (soft, so, so soft), how they feel on his skin (tender and gentle), how they look when theyre formed around the syllables of his name. His hair—the way it looks when it's rumpled from sleep or by his own hand. His face—the way he looks when he leans into his touch, the way his eyes blew wide in surprise when he told him he loved him. His hands—when they hold his, when they hold him. His voice—oh, god, his voice, an angel's song; a lullaby. </p><p>Him. Him him him him. Home. </p><p>Seonghwa. </p><p>(It's fucking sad, Hongjoong thinks, how it's only through the realm of memory, through his closed eyes, that he sees and feels and hears all of this. What's gonna be left of him, of <i>them</i>, when he forgets?)</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. san + jongho; silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>(may we all find our jonghos and never lose them.)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>On the nights San can't sleep (either weighed down by a sadness that made a home out of his chest, or deafened by the loudness of the voices in his head, or bothered by how he can't get shit right), Jongho sings to him until he does. </p><p>San remembers the first night he did it: Blood, Sweat, and Tears had been an absolute bitch to learn, and he spent the entire fucking night full-on sobbing--he sobbed in the bus, he cried in the dorm while washing the dishes, he sobbed into his fucking noodles, he tried to muffle his tears into a pillow, it was three AM, the entire dorm was asleep. And then the bunk bed started creaking, Jongho stood up and watched him with pained eyes. Reached out gingerly, as if he were afraid San would push him away. </p><p>He doesn't. For a moment, his sobs quieted.  Jongho held his hand, stroking his knuckles with his thumb. </p><p>"Can't sleep, hyung?" He whispers, his eyes sympathetic. San nods. </p><p>He nods right back. "Okay, what can I do?" </p><p>San was (is) naturally affectionate--he hesitates, knowing how Jongho shied away from touch most of the time, so: "sing me to sleep?" </p><p>The request startled him, but he stood there, holding his hand and singing for him until he quieted. </p><p>It's been a thing ever since. Comfort became synonymous to Jongho's voice became synonymous to home. </p><p>Now, San is, technically, homeless: grief sits heavy in his throat and in his head. The other side of the bed is vacant, the imprint of Jongho's body long gone, the silence he left in his wake chokes San the way his pain does. </p><p>There will be no sleep tonight for him.</p>
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